Worship, VIII
The Movement, IV
Goddammit
God don’t
Fail me now.
There are little demons outside my house
stepping on butterflies
on my yard, wait.
On my landlord’s yard and
They sneer at me,
the filthy things,
and they tell me I deserve
it.
I deserve the fury of
the eternal fire on
my skin and on
my egotistic head.
I do not live by bread alone,
So ideally I should not live.
Mama always said I stand my ground.
But what if they are right enough
to kill the butterflies outside
my landlord’s door.
I fold into a ball on the floor for
a few seconds,
wishing they would go away.
And I hear them run off
And I wish I was dead.
Goddammit
God don’t
Fail us now.
There’s a demon inside the house
and we step on its evil underlings
on its yard, wait.
On its landlord’s yard and
It sneers at us,
the fearful thing,
and we know we don’t deserve that.
Its kind has thrown at us the fury of
an eternal torment on
our skin and on
our helpless heads.
We only live on bread alone,
So ideally we should live better.
My kind demands we stand our ground.
To be strong enough
to overcome the demon’s underlings outside
its landlord’s door,
and further out.
It disappears from the window to its floor
It must have gone for a weapon.
So we run away,
we cannot win if we are dead.
